He chopped at the log with the fury of a Greek God The foggy mountain top he raised his head to gaze Armed sufficiently when insincerity and indecency collide His flaming head now full of dread and thinking that he’s dead Damning thoughts they disappear the ax he swings relieved Fully consumed with gratitude she lays him-freed, in the ground.
Yes, my poems seem dark and dreary. One time I tried a happy verse but it didn’t seem to work. The clouds blocked the sun, the earth began to shake.The time and space continuum collided and NASA locked me up. Then, the CIA got involved and called me a national threat. They flagged my email, spied on my journal and called the President. All the Heads of State met deciding what to do. They put me in orange, cuffed my hands and threw me in Gitmo. So, I no longer write the happy verse and have begun to curse. You should hear the words that came out-even the terrorists became afraid-and ran from this little blonde girl.